


From a Distance

by weytani



Series: Anything Goes [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weytani/pseuds/weytani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sameen likes to hurt people, Root likes to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Distance

Root first finds her behind the gymnasium, hands fisted in the shirt of some hockey player as she knees him in the stomach and grinds his face into the concrete. Sameen Shaw is seventeen years old and she doesn’t care about much, but the way her blood heats up when she’s fighting is a thrill she’ll never stop chasing. That’s why she doesn’t stop now, not even when she spots this unfamiliar visitor rounding the corner just a few feet away.

(She’s not even sure how this one started, really. Most of them are the same: kids who don’t know how to pick their targets, kids who try to take her money because she drives a nice car and dresses better than her five-finger discount should afford. Sometimes, they just can’t keep their hands to themselves.)

This isn’t the first time she’s been seen, but it’s the first time anyone’s stayed to watch. Sameen’s never been one for an audience, and usually the stragglers are just waiting for a chance to catch her off-guard. But there’s something like appreciation in this girl’s eyes as she leans against a nearby building, palms resting comfortably on the brick wall behind her back.

Sameen throws one final punch and lets go, doesn’t even watch the body drop. _Party’s over_ , she thinks, flexing her right hand and inspecting the bright red knuckles of her left. His nose had broken pretty early on, apparently, because the blood trail is already starting to dry up, thin streaks of it smeared across her fingers. She scrapes at it with her thumbnail, lips pursed in annoyance when the colour won’t budge.

She’s half-expecting the girl to have vanished when she turns around, off in search of some faculty member to report Sameen for her crimes. She can deal with the counselor, with her disapproving mother; Sameen’s pasted-on look of shame and repentance is getting better by the day.

But the girl is still there, smiling and watching and completely unaffected by the boy whimpering in pain at Sameen’s feet. She doesn’t look at him either, just stares Sameen down through half-lidded eyes as she runs a manicured hand through her hair.

Sameen can still feel the adrenaline pulsing through her, but she finds the heat pooling in her stomach coming from somewhere else entirely. And it’s not unpleasant.

The bell rings out then, and the stranger makes a show of pouting as she moves away from the wall, one hand fiddling with the collar of her shirt. It’s a gesture of shyness, but Sameen’s pretty sure she winks at her as she turns away.

The interruption doesn’t mean anything to her. She needs to wash the blood off soon or risk facing a painfully long lecture from Finch when she’s late to class.

But she still takes the time to admire the girl’s ass as she walks away.

 

-

 

Sameen doesn’t know her name, doesn’t ask around, doesn’t care enough to wonder. Nobody calls her out about the hockey player; he needs medical care afterwards, but he won’t dare admit the truth.

So three days go by, and the weekend follows.

Come Monday morning, there’s a candy bar in her locker.

Sameen knows she didn’t put it there herself, and the slits in the door are too thin for anyone to push it through. She’s a little impressed that someone managed to break into her locker, but hungry as she is there’s no way she’s humouring whoever’s dumb prank this is.

She drops the king size Snickers bar into a nearby trash can and moves on.

There’s a bag of Hershey’s Kisses waiting for her a day later, this time with a bright pink sticky note attached. Sameen scowls, but peels it off and holds it between her thumb and index finger as she reads.

_From your secret admirer._

There’s a little heart scribbled in the corner of the note.

Sameen dumps the candy anyway.

 

-

 

There are no more locker invasions after that, and for a while things go on as usual. She gets into two more fights that week; one over a parking space and one to back up John, who just has one of those faces people love to knock around. Not that he can’t handle himself, but Sameen never misses an opportunity to let loose.

She’s got one guy in a headlock when she sees it, just out of the corner of her eye. A flash of brown hair, and it’s such a common colour that she thinks it’s ridiculous how sure she is. Maybe it’s because she can feel that familiar stare prickling at the back of her neck.

She lets go of the guy’s head and kicks his feet out from under him, turning around with a level of expectation that’s really unlike her.

And maybe she’s a little disappointed by the empty space that greets her.

 

-

 

Sameen’s in the computer lab the next time she makes contact. It’s getting late, and most of the school is long gone, but she still has assignments to finish. Meaningless violence is a big part of her life, but the perfect GPA she’s holding up is what's tipping the scales that keep her from expulsion.

So there she is, and it’s not like the work is particularly hard. Sameen can do Nerd, she just prefers to do Badass a hell of a lot more. Five more minutes and she’ll be good to go.

But then a window opens up right in the centre of her screen, completely black except for the flashing white cursor in the top left corner. She tries to close it, but the mouse isn’t cooperating for some reason. Smacking it against the desk doesn’t help, so she slouches back in her seat and groans in frustration.

The cursor flicks down and white text lights up the window, the words “ _ **Hi there**_.” appearing clear as day. Sameen narrows her eyes. A virus, she thinks, and pushes her chair back. Maybe she can salvage her work on another machine.

Then the cursor moves again, and two longer lines of text show up.

_**Hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this.** _

_**The indirect approach was getting a little dry, what with you throwing away all my gifts.** _

Sameen’s mind draws up the connection: chocolate in her locker, pink sticky note. The wannabe Locker Fairy is now hacking her computer.

She taps at the keyboard a few times, just in case the line goes both ways. It does.

_Take a hint._

There are only three other people left in the lab and she has a clear view of all their screens. No trace of computer mastery to be found, just two students hard at work and one playing a drawn-out game of Tetris. When her eyes slide back to her own screen, the words are already there.

_**I get that you’re a private person.** _

_**But I really think we connected the other day, you know, by the gym.** _

Oh.

Is it connecting when one person watches another beat the shit out of someone? That doesn’t seem right. But… Sameen remembers the heat in her stomach, remembers brown eyes and black fingernails; sharp teeth in a coy smile.

_Are you stalking me?_

_**I’m a big fan of your work.** _

Sameen’s never been the poster-child for Normality, but even she can tell there’s something off about this girl. Breaking into lockers, hacking school computers, and now making a pass at her based on a mutual thirst for violence.

Well, it’s not the worst offer she’s ever had.

“ _Who are you?_ ” she types, even though it feels like she’s surrendering something by taking an interest.

_**You can call me Root.** _

She’s pretty sure that name’s not going to be in any register this place has.

**_I’ll see you around, Sameen._ **

The cursor flashes three times and then the black window vanishes. Her documents are back up just as she left them and it doesn’t look like anything’s changed, but she reads the whole thing through just in case. Whatever Root’s intentions are, she’s not screwing with her deadlines.

 

-

 

She mentions the name to John later, voice completely casual as she drops into the seat next to him and starts digging through his lunchbag. Cafeteria food is suspicious on a good day, so John always brings his own meals (and hers, involuntarily, when she doesn’t feel like fighting through the line).

“Root?” he takes a bite out of his sandwich and shrugs, chewing slowly; swallows, and comes back with “That’s not much to go on.”

“Good with computers.”

John snorts, but his face turns thoughtful.

“Finch mentioned something a while back, actually. Said someone’s been playing games with his security system.” He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Says the one swapping friendship bracelets with their Math teacher.

(Sameen’s not completely sure where that dynamic came from either, but she figures John has some home-life issues he doesn’t want to deal with. She kind of gets it, but things like family and friends and feelings- they don’t rank high on her list of priorities. Or low. Or anywhere, really.

Anyway, Finch keeps him out of trouble. Meanwhile, Sameen gets an all-access pass to the older guy’s more interesting sidekick. Hint: it’s a dog.)

“Can I help it if my winning personality attracts the wrong kind of people?” she asks, innocently.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Shaw, but we’re the wrong kind of people.”

She picks at a scabbed-over cut on her arm and thinks _yeah, probably_.

John’s lunch is pretty boring today so it’s about time to go elsewhere. If she’s fast, maybe she can hunt down Lionel before he zips off to play hall-monitor with the other try-hards (… and Carter). If nothing else, the guy is usually good for the kind of snacks she’s after.

She’s got one leg over the bench when someone occupies the seat directly across the table from them. Sameen instinctively turns her head at the movement, and finds herself looking straight into the big brown doe-eyes of her new… well, something. Stalker doesn’t seem like the right word.

“Did you miss me?” Root asks, face all lit up like they’re old friends who haven’t seen each other in a while. Like she hasn’t just made a perfectly-timed entrance that’s more than a little suspicious. Sameen’s starting to rethink the whole stalker thing.

She narrows her eyes at Root, but slides back into her seat anyway. John looks between them, apparently finding the whole thing hilarious because his mouth is doing this smirky-twitchy thing that pisses her off regularly. Instead of punching him like she’s itching to, she settles for stamping down hard on his foot under the table. He doesn’t even wince, just bares his teeth at her and turns back to Root.

“I hear you’re a fan of computers.” he says, and Sameen kicks at his foot again for suggesting they’d been talking about her. But Root barely acknowledges him, just drops her bag on the table and starts fishing through it at a leisurely pace.

“At first I thought you were just being stubborn.” she says suddenly, pausing her search to throw an exasperated smile in Sameen’s direction. “I mean, maybe the locker trick was a little too much, but you’re kind of intimidating…”

Her nose scrunches up as she says that last part, and it comes out like a joke.

“So I did some digging and, well, let’s just say that your file is a really fun read. Although,” and she leans forward then, right into Sameen’s personal space because the tables aren’t particularly wide, “It doesn’t come close to the real thing.”

John shifts at her side, and even Sameen’s a little taken aback because yes, she’s been flirted with before, but never this openly. Most people really do find her intimidating, even if Root doesn’t seem to think so. She’s got a reputation after all, and at least three eye-witnesses saying she beat someone to death last Thanksgiving.

(She didn’t, but it’s a really fucked-up rumour and she loves that kind of thing.)

Root doesn’t move back, so Sameen decides to play her game.

She sets her forearms against the tabletop and pushes herself up, looks down at the other girl over the narrow gap between their faces. Root stares back, but her mouth falls open and her fingers tighten noticeably over the material of her bag. She hears John fake a coughing fit to her right, but Root’s face is somehow really distracting from this distance.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing.” Sameen says, slow and quiet and hopefully more dangerous than she feels right now. “But if you keep following me around like this, something really bad is going to happen to you.”

Root draws back by a few centimetres and inhales. Sameen doesn’t miss the movement. With victory close at hand, she pushes on.

“And I don’t think you’ll enjoy it as much as I will.”

There’s a beat of silence, and it feels like the whole cafeteria has stopped moving around them.

 _Problem solved_ , she thinks, until Root’s hands are wrapped in her jacket and suddenly she’s being yanked forward.

The kiss Root plants on her is warm and inviting. There’s an easy rhythm to it, like she’s trying to lure Sameen in with just this one moment, and it’s kind of working. She becomes hyperaware of all kinds of annoying things, like the way Root’s fingers have moved from her jacket to her face, and how soft Root’s hair is, and yeah that’s definitely Root’s tongue drawing a teasing line along her bottom lip.

The whole thing is deceptively gentle, right up to the point where she bites down hard and fast on Sameen’s lip and pulls away.

“Deal.”

Sameen blinks, falling back onto the bench.

By the time she’s got her composure back, Root is already walking away, and she’s so busy watching her go that she misses the energy bar Root has dropped into her lap. John waves it in front of her face, makes a teasing jibe about how completely lost she looks.

She snatches it out of his hand, tears the wrapper off and crams the whole thing into her mouth.

It’s a small comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a serial killer au that went in a really weird direction


End file.
